Playing the Belfast game
By Ken Lake Ex Royal Marine
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Ken Lake served 4 tours in Northern Ireland when the 'troubles' were at there peak. He professes to having matured on the streets of Belfast and learned responsibility and something about human nature.Having become a fitness instructor he turned to writing and found that the experiences he learned in Belfast nurtured a desire to express his frustrations at pointless war and conflict. His first book 'a pawn for the queen' was nominated by the national library of Malta for the international Impac Dublin literary award. These pages are excerpts from his phase one autobiography 'the trains, boats and bullets of a fitness instructor'. He has also just finished another book called 'the greatest sense,' which is a fiction work that also features a story line that is hewn from the troubles. A pawn for the queen can be ordered from www.concept2malta.com or contact Britain's small wars. Please note that this web site receives no profit from the sale of this book. |
This is a true account of a terrifying incident that happened 30 years ago whilst on a foot patrol in north Belfast. We also became involved with several other serious incidents and the section commander on behalf of the section won the Military medal for several incidents including our reactions in capturing two gunmen with their weapons after foiling an ambush. These pages are excerpts from my book 'Tales from a fitness instructor' I've written two other books, one 'A Pawn for the Queen' a fiction novel was published in Malta and features both Northern Ireland and the Falklands war. See Pharaoh press. The Belfast game was the ultimate in a thrill seeking designer game, a game guaranteed to squeeze the very last drop of adrenaline to course freely through your veins. Not recommended for the squeamish or faint hearted, it was a game that always outplayed the players, it could never be beaten. |
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The game could be played by any number of players and the board along with the instrumental pieces should be properly explained before it began. In this particular game the board boundaries consisted of a residential estate in North Belfast called Tiger bay. Tiger bay happened to be Orange coloured, and was situated between New Lodge and the Newington estate, which were Green coloured. The major board players were the British security forces, these were denoted as wearing combat uniforms, flak jackets and regimental berets. The weaponry consisted of self loading rifles with one star light scope per section, federal riot guns and wooden batons.
The games opposition were called the Zapmen and these players usually operated from the Green areas. The Zapmen being the home team held the advantage, they were also exceptionally cunning and their tactical play was never to be underestimated at any costs. They wore jeans and combat jackets and sometimes wore black hoods with eye slits. Their preferred weapons were the automatic M16, and the Russian RPG 7 or anything else they could get their hands on, or indeed make.
The rules of the game were pretty simple. From the British security forces point of view, the game was to try and keep the Green and Orange people apart and stop the Zapman from operating. The objective of the game was to avoid the Zapman's tricks and to keep as far a way from his fast moving lumps of lead and anything that generally went bang. Winning the game was out of the question but getting a stalemate was generally accepted if you made the boat home with your body still in one piece and with all limbs in working order. Losing the game could exceptionally painful or in extreme cases quite often you felt very little physical pain because you were dead mate.
There were different levels of the game, day foot patrol, night foot patrol, day mobile, night mobile, day standby patrol and night standby patrol. The duration of each game lasted 12 hours and played over a 4-month span. The game was played every day except when guard duty at the base camp interposed or when the single 'excessive' 72 hour leave pass was issued. That 72 hours leave was very easily whittled away and was scant rest and reward for the stresses of the high emotion game. Tired soldiers often became victims of the game.
The game was played in many districts and towns all over the province; Londonderry was a notable and keen playing area. Other spin off versions of the game later became very popular with the Zapman in many other rural areas such as Crossmaglen.
Making the game infinitely more interesting because only live ammunition was used, naturally warm ups, rehearsals, or practicing weren't allowed, so it was straight into the real thing and good luck to you sunshine.
The central theme of this game was to keep a high profile security force on the dividing lines which were called the Buffer and to patrol the Orange and Green areas day and night.
The history of our playing area was worth illustrating. The very first British soldier killed in this latest troubled period was Gunner Robert Curtis, aged 20 who was shot dead on the 6th February 1971 on the New Lodge road. I really haven't a clue on how many poor souls had been zapped in our playground but I know that many people were killed along with countless others seriously injured with hideous injuries. The Marines themselves had lost 4 men in the playground and several serious injuries had occurred.
The New Lodge was a series of narrow streets with terraced houses with backyards and alleyways with a fiercely strong minded community that had heavy interference from the Zapmen. The area hadn't been policed for years and any military access was gained with the certain knowledge that they were under extreme observation. This Playground was riddled with lookouts and any foreign players were immediately pinpointed. A conveniently tall block of flats appropriately named Artillery flats laid behind the playground and made an excellent surveillance post, of course this favored the Zapmen.
"Watch out now, Soldier," one elderly man warned me in North Queens street, one night. "The tall block of flats have window codes. Watch the end and middle windows display different coloured lights, these act as different warnings to the dwellers of New Lodge."
The man was right and we knew the window lights acted as warnings. The game was certainly hoting up and became increasing difficult for us away players.
With the usual lookouts and the flats window lights warning system there was also an ice cream van that toured the Green area playing 'Popeye the sailor man," whenever away players entered the playground. Unfortunately this vehicle had a bizarre series of mishaps especially flat tyres, and then it got serious engine problems until the ice cream van eventually faded away to obscurity. I wouldn't say that the away players tampered with the ice cream van in anyway but they were certainly glad it stopped playing that stupid bloody tune whenever we got into the playground.
Okay, game on. Day foot patrol, starting at 10am and finishing at 10pm. We, the away team consisted of a section of 9 men plus a driver who drove the Saracen, an armored personnel carrying vehicle. The Saracen was randomly based around friendlier parts of the area. Using the vehicle as a base and back up, the foot patrols swept the area, sniffing for trouble, not acting as antagonists but ready to curb any trouble quickly.
8 o'clock, Friday evening, April 1973 began an exceptionally good game indeed, a game that tested us to the outer limits. We respected the talents of the Zapman, we knew he existed and he'd demonstrated his prowess several time during the tour. One of our own players had been killed, 3 others had been shot, one had his legs blown off and we'd survived some incredible near misses. An RPG 7 rocket fired at a parked Saracen had luckily missed by just two feet and another player had acquired a prized hole in the flap of his beret where a high velocity round had passed swiftly through it. There were several other incidents that we could count as lucky escapes with desperate near misses. On the balance we had captured 5 Zapmen with their weapons and several other Zapmen had been incarcerated.
"Ready, Ken?" The section commander asked me. The section commander and myself had built a solid understanding in a remarkable short period of time and I had become his second in command.
"Ready," I answered.
"Let's move out," the section commander said softly. We shook out along the empty street, a standard 6 man patrol, 3 each side of the street, good spacing between each man. The Saracen and a three man back up waited for our return or a signal from us to give immediate assistance. We crossed a junction and passed a clearing.
"Stand by to make ready," hissed the section commander. There was a small pause as the patrol prepared.
"Now," the order was snapped.
As one, we sharply cocked our rifles. This was better, giving ourselves a vital psychological edge despite the yellow cards instructions to the contrary. We had a game to play mate; being ready and armed certainly assisted any chance of survival if we got hit.
"Hello, whisky one, one Charlie Delta, radio check, over."
"Whisky one, one Charlie Delta, okay over.
"Whisky one, one Charlie okay out."
The section commander snapped the mouth piece of the Pye radio back onto his flak jacket lapel, satisfied that his communication to the vehicle back up was in good order.
There were three degrees of alertness in the initial stages of the game; we were now at level 1. We patrolled to a junction and crossed into the main road, Duncairn gardens, as we hit the gardens we began level 2 of the game and a grander dosage of adrenaline kicked in as we hit the buffer zone and therefore became more exposed to the Zapman.
Not a perfect night for the away team to play, cold with a foggy blanket, whisping and dancing in conjunction with a stiff wind. We could however outmaneuver this incursion with perfect synchronization that enabled the patrol to cover as much of the playground as possible, moving feely and quickly. The expertise of our movement became second nature, eyes everywhere, holding the rifles close, letting the senses open up, allowing the game plan to unfold. No words were necessary, we were a machine with six heads and six pairs of eyes, our survival meant no weak links or it really was goodbye and the walk of shame ended in a cemetery and those places are really boring.
Not much traffic, few pedestrians and who could blame them, this was a game for serious and necessary players only. Sitting next to the fire, watching the box and dunking digestives into hot tea seemed a far better option.
Approaching the entry point of the playground, the real starting point of the game, heart rate up as we prepared to go into the lair of the Zapman, we all wished that the game might be postponed until tomorrow but that always happened before the game began, but nerves were better than casual and complacent attitudes.
Go! Sprint, sprint, sprint, running like the Zapman chased you, never enter the playground at a walk, get in there like you mean it. Look aggressive, look alert, look professional or you could end up looking dead.
The patrol was inside the playground, hairs on the neck standing up, adrenaline level kicking into overdose. Two men leading a staggered patrol, rifles poised, eyes front. Two middle men, the section commander and myself sweeping the sides, front and back, the tail end Charlie's walking backwards. Keeping the correct distance, keeping it tight, keeping the sweat running down the back and arms even on the cold foggy night.
Problem, an obstacle coming up, about to pass some derelict buildings that stood like ugly haunted houses. Houses, once warm homes now lying bricked up and empty and riddled with bullet holes. Derelicts were naughty, they could house booby traps, bombs that could unleash thousand of deadly jagged pieces of metal that would shred the skin to the bone without disturbing the rest of the street. This had already materialized during the tour in the playground and one marine would never play football or walk on his natural legs again. The patrol sped past the derelicts and the horrible dark alleyways that the Zapman loved playing in. Hearts up as we came to the first junction, crossing a junction was dangerous because of the exposure from every angle. Hearts up further, nearly jumping out of the chest, this really was a game played at the highest emotional level.
Front men crouched low to create a smaller target, middle men approached them. Tail end Charlies took cover facing the rear.
"Go," the section commander spat out to me. We both dashed across the void to the other side of the junction and covered the front aggressively. The tail end Charlies, ready and alert, followed next in one smooth movement and as soon as they reached the other side of the junction they replaced our covering point. This set off the last maneuver where the middle men and the front men raced off simultaneously. The middle men advanced some distance forward and the front men sped past the tail end Charlies and then past the middlemen before resuming the lead again. Organized, fast, professional movements to try and prevent the Zapman getting a decent bead on his next victim.
The fog had suddenly thickened masking the visibility to the end of the street, now wasn't that a nice touch in the playground of horrors. Friday night on a cold, dark, foggy Belfast street and with the certain knowledge we had been observed by a lookout somewhere monitoring our movements and consequently informing the waiting Zapman. Heart up, eyes darting to every corner, every alleyway, every corner, every derelict, every bloody where.
Cruising fast and cutting through the playground in the most professional manner whilst liberal splashes of sweat soaked our backs making a total liar of the cold.
We passed more junctions avoiding the derelicts that were always posted at the junctions and entered Edlingham Street. Edlingham Street was bullet ridden and filled with derelicts because it ran through Green and Orange zones. Common knowledge that this street wasn't perhaps the best value real estate in the province, nice houses, dodgy neighbors.
On every junction corner in the playground during some stage of the last few years had been stained with the blood of soldiers and civilians. The history of the playground was atrocious but hey, calm down, think positive, keep focused and keep switched on.
"Have you noticed something odd?" I whispered to the section commander.
"Yeah, it's bloody quiet."
"Haven't seen a living thing since we entered."
"Could be the fog and the cold."
"Not even a Tom cat has been seen."
"It is very weird."
"You know what this could mean?"
"Yeah, it's what I was just thinking. We'll move down Spamount street and check things out," said the section commander to me in minimal word confidence.
We moved quickly into Spamount street and noticed that there wasn't any lights on anywhere. No street lights or house lights, a funeral would have been more welcoming. We moved on and halfway down the street, the section commander nodded purposefully at me and with deft hand signals the patrol stopped and took cover in the terraced porch ways. The section commander and I both darted to several doorways and gently pushed at them. With terrifying reality each one of the doors opened. 'Shittttttttttt,' we had just walked into an ambush zone, the open doorways being a clear sign of this. If we checked every house in the street we would find each one of them empty. Throughout the afternoon the inhabitants would have slipped away from the street and been instructed to leave the doors open. This would ensure a non witness and involvement in a shooting and limitless escape options for the Zapman. Bang, bang, bang, escape, run into an open house and out of the back entrance then through the alleyway, push open the adjacent backyard doorway, run through the open back door of another house, out the front and slip away into the night. Heart up, maximum revs because we were up against it, the game had became naughty, didn't want to play anymore.
The section commander dashed to my cover point in a porchway and knelt beside me before speaking into his radio.
"Hello whisky one, one Charlie delta, radio check over." A mushy noise came back. He tried again, nothing doing, He tried HQ, nothing came back and nor would it because the radio frequency had been jammed.
I immediately dashed to the tail end Charlie on my side of the street and borrowed his weapon that had the star light scope. The sight was able to magnify the smallest amount of light in the dark and project a green tinge visual. I checked both ends of the street and saw very little.
"Keep your eye on both ends of the street. If you see anybody at all, alert us," I stated and dashed back to the section commander's position.
"It's definately this street," he spoke calmly. "No lights, open doors, and now the radios jammed."
"Yeah, were boxed in, not a good idea to move."
"No communications, no back up, possible Zapmen at one or both ends of the street."
"Good bloody game this," I answered.
"Hey, someone's loitering at that end of the street," the tail end Charlie with the sight whispered and pointed to one end.
"Check the other side of the street," the section commander replied quietly.
"Yeah, there's someone at that corner as well," he hissed.
The section commander whispered in my ear. "Those are the lookouts; they're waiting for us to move. When we do the Zapman or Zapmen will open fire."
The most frightening words of my life were uttered to me. Instantly, I thought of what a bullet traveling at 2740 feet per second would do to human flesh and bone, small entry hole, large exit hole as the round span on impact, bloody hell.
The section commander spoke to me again and smashed the hideous picture out of my head. "Ken, get the section on this side closed up inside this doorway and keep an eye on me for instructions. Keep them very quiet." Then he crept across the street to duplicate the movement on his side. I glided silently to both the front man and the tail end Charlie and told them to come to my position opposite the section commander. We stealthily occupied the porch way and I pushed open the doorway and like an old fashioned horror movie the door creaked open exposing a dark mysterious hallway. We huddled together and the other two asked the obvious questions.
"We can't move in either direction because it's very likely that the Zapmen have automatic weapons and a couple of sustained burst down this narrow street would wipe us out before we reached an end of the street. We have to wait until they make a move, we're stuck. Be ready to move or open fire," I whispered.
With our eyes scanning the street with a fierce intensity, we waited what seemed an eternity. It felt good to have human company next to me in cold, foggy night in a playground with the possibility that we might not live to see the next day. After about 15 minutes but seemed an hour, the clear sound of footsteps were audible as somebody approached us. I got the attention of the section commander who was squeezed into the doorway opposite with the other two of the section and let him know about another player into the game. It felt like the bogey man was coming to get us and I caressed the trigger of my rifle whilst silently praying. I was ready to fire or ready to die, it was an impossible emotion. The footsteps became louder, single footsteps; the Zapman approaching, go for the biggest target, two shots into the chest, I willed myself. More steps then suddenly I could see a shadow that seemed like a monster out to slay us. It came closer and my finger tightened on the trigger, I looked hard at the figure that had no obvious rifle or machine gun. A pistol maybe, who knows? Slowly the form became a shadow and then became a man, a man who was evidently searching the street judging by his body language and head movements. Closer, closer, as he stepped past me I quickly stood up and grabbed him roughly putting my hand across his mouth. He tried to scream out and thrashed about violently, the other section members also held grabbed and contained him before giving a body search. Shining a torch into his face, I recognized him as a man who had a well endorsed connection to the Zapmen. The man wet himself with fear, the tables had turned.
The section commander appeared and spoke very clearly after we quickly discussed matters.
"We'll form up on this side and on my word run as fast as you can toward the opposite direction that this bastard came from." He looked at me. "Drag him along and we'll use him as a shield. Get to the junction and we'll form up in Upper Meadow Street, okay?"
"Okay," we all agreed. In a few seconds the entire section and the man were squeezed together ready to move.
"Ready? Go." We ran toward the junction with our lives depending on the speed of our movements dragging the man with us who we threatened to shoot if he didn't run fast enough.
Each step I made it felt as if a rifle was being aimed at me and I waited for the bullet to end my life. My shoulder blades felt like an illuminated bull's eye had been painted on. Each step was made in slow motion as if the world had slowed and my perceptions and senses had gone haywire. We somehow managed to get to the junction and felt glad to realize that the lookouts or the Zapmen had disappeared. We crossed the junction and quickly formed up in Upper Meadow Street breathing heavily. Our nerves were shot to hell and we decided to sprint out of the area and sacrifice any tactical formation. We got to Duncairn gardens completely exhausted like we'd ran a marathon instead of just 500 yards, it felt surreal. Adopting a tactical formation again but without any words and marching the man, we patrolled back to the Saracen. Once there, we radioed HQ with our now working again radio and the standby section arrived very quickly. The man was arrested and taken to North queen's street police station. Not long after that and with a mighty relief, the relieving section arrived to begin their night patrol. We headed back to the camp in the Saracen very subdued with each member silent in thought; the game had reached new dimensions, dimensions they had developed into a superior level. To combat this and stay alive we would need to improve even further, the thought of this was hugely daunting.
"I've acquired a few drinks," one of the lads spoke out. "Anyone care to join me for a quick one tonight."
The mood cracked instantly. "Yeah, that's perfect," the section replied together.
'Why not you only live once, but die a thousand times,' I thought sourly still shocked at our exposed vulnerability.
We got debriefed, showered, ate and huddled around our cramped bed space and waited for the section commander to return who'd been summoned to the intelligence room.
A small tot of Bushmills Irish whisky was poured into our plastic mugs when the section commander arrived. We toasted each other and let the tension evaporate with a few jokes.
"Fuck this for a game of soldiers," someone quipped. Now that was appropriately funny with all the correct diction involved in the sentence.
We drank and laughed because if we didn't we might have cracked, the game was winning by a bloody mile.
Later the section commander took me to one side and spoke with a serious expression.
"I've just been informed at the intelligence room that two Zapmen with machine guns were waiting to open fire at us from the direction the man came from and where we were headed. The Zapmen had sent a lookout, that guy who walked into us with the intention of checking us out; incidentally he was also a wanted gunman as you mentioned earlier. The Zapmen had apparently lost contact with us and thought we had fled through the houses. You know, we were seconds, only a few feet away from a deadly ambush and walking in that narrow street not many of us would have survived it." He took a gulp of the whisky and gasped as it seared his throat. "Best if we keep those facts to ourselves and not let the other lads know, we still have 6 weeks left to play the game and keeping the morale up is vital. That's' why it's a good idea to unwind a little tonight with a drink."
I listened and shivered and acted with bravado. "We didn't get beaten though did we? We can hack this."
The section commander smiled at me. "That's the right spirit."
I got into my bunk bed later and reflected on the evening's game before getting some much needed sleep. After all the next day a new 12 twelve hour game was about to start and we had to go through the high emotions all over again, I said a silent prayer and slept.
© 2004 Ken Lake
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